


all the days that never came

by cendal



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:46:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cendal/pseuds/cendal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please," you plead, and the witch pauses, looks at you with an arched eyebrow. "Just--just save her. I'll give you anything."</p>
<p>She leans over the counter to tip your chin up with a finger. "Your life," she tells you in a croon, "is the price."</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the days that never came

**Author's Note:**

> this is dumb i'm really sorry i must now cover my face in shame

"Please," you plead, and the witch pauses, looks at you with an arched eyebrow. "Just―just save her. I'll give you anything."

She leans over the counter to tip your chin up with a finger. "Your life," she tells you in a croon, "is the price."

You're shaking―with fright or anticipation, you aren't quite sure. All you know is that Feferi is too important for you to lose, and if that means you die, so be it. The fate of the kingdom rests upon her shoulders. "I'll do it," you say, and you are filled with the knowledge that you are causing your own destruction.

She grins, all teeth, and the unkindness of it makes you twitch. "As you wish." Her fingers trail from your throat to your heart, nails nearly pricking your skin, and you can hardly breathe as she rests her palm against your chest, glowing white and hot. You imagine that you can smell the fabric of your shirt begin to burn; the foolish fancy is your last thought before your sudden descent into darkness.

 

 

 

When you awake, you are in your bedroom. The bed is a comforting softness beneath you as you swing your legs over the side, and the floor is so cold that it startles you, makes you wonder if it was all just a dream. You slip on your boots before walking out, deciding to check on your sister.

She is sleeping when you arrive, her breathing more even than it has been for days. You press your hand lightly to her forehead, brushing her hair back in the process, and it no longer blazes with the heat of fever. Relief washes over you like a wave.

Her eyes flutter open as you withdraw your hand, and she asks, faintly alarmed, "Who are you?"

"Your brother," you reply, heart in your throat.

Her retort is chilling, though slurred with sleep: "I have no brother."

You leave quietly, shutting the door behind you. Another weight seems to have been added to your shoulders, dragging you down. Does she have amnesia? You go to see your parents in the throne room. Your mother hisses, all shocked anger as she straightens up from her relaxed position, "How did you get in here?"

Bewildered, you can hardly string together a sentence, only sputter out a few choppy words. It doesn't make any sense for her to demand how you gained entry.

"Are you blind, sir?" your father demands, more restrained than the queen; somehow, it is worse to hear his words than hers. "I can think of no other reason that you would find yourself in your king's castle!"

You choke out, "I-I'm sorry, your majesties," and stumble out of the room. You are not unintelligent, and comprehension dawns on you as cold as winter's harshest breath. It pains you more than anything in your life, causes your breathing to be quick and shallow as though something obstructs your lungs.

When the wretched witch referred to your life, you thought she meant your death. With a fervency that would surprise you at any other time, you wish that she had. Could anything be more terrible than the realization that the only one who knows that you exist is yourself?

Your strides are long as you return to your quarters, and you wrestle a bag out of your closet. Clothes are folded and put neatly inside, the actions mechanical. As an afterthought, you sweep jewelry into it, as well; if nothing else, you could use them as bargaining chips with an old friend.

(The reference makes you ache deep inside, and that is when you decide that feeling nothing is better than feeling anything at all.)

You retrieve your coin purse, heavy in your hands, and attach it to your belt before swinging the stuffed bag over your shoulder. You stand for a long moment, looking around your room for what you perceive to be the last time. Sadness threatens to overwhelm you, and that is when you take your leave, footsteps so silent that you might as well be a ghost.

 

 

 

(You recall this irony later, and you laugh so hard that you forget to stop yourself from crying.)

 

 

 

You ask women you know―used to know―for their gossipy mouths two questions: if they know where the resident witch is and when the last prince of Derse was born, just to torment yourself a little more. They are all too happy to tell you that the witch would be right out in the forest or returning home to her island palace at this time of year and that the last prince was the current king, though the latter they say with a little giggle that implies they think you are as dumb as the drunkards they often serve.

It's easier to deal with every time.

 

 

 

You hitchhike your way to Prospit, becoming increasingly reticent. They don't mind all that much. Some talk to you while others are as silent, and you aren't sure which one you prefer.

The way to the capital is easier than you expected; Prospitians are blindly trusting and generous. They offer you rides when you ask for directions. There is a traveling pair that takes you in, seeing as you're heading to the same place, and you sleep at inns. You wash up, but you look at yourself in a mirror afterward, thinking of everything that defines you.

It makes you somber and nostalgic, and you sit in the carriage with the sweet minstrel. She chatters to you without needing an enthusiastic response to keep talking. Her companion, a gruff man with a pronounced widow's peak, glowers at you when he thinks you sit too close, more like a guardian than a friend.

They're good people, you admit to yourself on the evening of the second day. You aren't sure why you thought they might not be. Maybe you're too conditioned to Dersites, most of whom are conniving and clever, to expect otherwise.

You enter the capital at midday on the fourth day, and you part ways with them with a smile on your face and a gold coin placed onto their palms.

 

 

 

("We don't need it," says Equius, torn between taking it as an insult or simply taking it, and you answer, "I know." Nepeta laughs like you're a delightful surprise and thanks you, her eyes crinkling in the corners, and you're amazed at how much she reminds you of Feferi.)

 

 

 

You seek an audience with the king, and that you are granted. He is burly with a mop of curls and sneers when you say that you are from Derse. "What do you want?" he asks after your short introduction, getting straight to the point.

"I would like," you say, "for a knight to accompany me on a quest of a personal nature, and if you would hear it, I would appreciate it."

Looking bored, he motions for you to go on, and you explain to him as clearly as you can what happened to you. His eyes are bright sparks of interest by the end of it, and for the first time in a while (it feels like such a long time, years and years), you're hopeful. "After a tale as interesting as that, how could I deny you a knight?" he laughs, hearty and booming. "Luckily for you, we have one to spare."

He calls him in, and as you wait, you look down at your hands and wonder at your sudden turn of good fortune.

The knight is around your age with messy hair and a scowl prepared as if he knows that he's going to hate whatever he will be told to do. "What?" he snaps grouchily before catching himself, appearing a bit sheepish.

"Congratulations, Karkat," the king says dryly when it becomes obvious an apology is not forthcoming: "you have a new quest with―Eridan, was it?" You nod. "He'll fill you in on the details. Leave either tonight or in the morning." And with that, he waves you both out.

Your first words to the knight are, "Your name is _Karkat_?"

He shoots you a look as dark as his hair, and his first words to you are, "If you start making fun of me for it, I _will_ strangle you."

It's as good a sign of a blooming friendship as any.

 

 

 

"So, wait," he says, furrowing his brow, "you made a deal with a witch, and she made everyone you've ever known forget about you entirely? That doesn't sound half bad, actually. I already regret knowing you."

It hurts more than it should, a slice to your withering heart, as dry as a flower pressed between the pages of a book. You swallow past the lump in your throat and focus your eyes somewhere above his shoulder. "Me, too," you whisper, scratchy, more honest than you care to admit. His shift into an almost painful-looking guilt makes you hurry to add, "That is, _I_ regret knowing _you_."

"Thanks," he mutters sarcastically. He's terribly expressive, like he's never learned to control the emotions that show on his countenance. It endears you a little to him, though that is lost between then and the end of his next sentence. "Let me guess―you want to find the lady again so that she can 'fix' your life?" He rolls his eyes with a snort, derisive.

Your eyes narrow. "Do you have a better idea?" you demand, your shoulders hunching up defensively.

(Later you reflect that it is an awful feeling, wanting to shield your pride from taking a hit, to stop someone from trampling over you. It lends a sense of insecurity, one that slithers inside of you and lingers like a poison.)

He shrugs, rounder than your own jerky movement, and admits that he does not. "I guess we're going to get to know each other very well," he remarks, a funny little smile playing at his lips. He raises his glass. "To hare-brained adventures?"

"To hare-brained adventures," you agree, clinking your glass against his after a small fumble, and the two of you drink to it.

 

 

 

Sometimes you forget that the whole world is not against you.

 

 

 

Over the next few days, you do actually get to know each other. Karkat continues to make snide comments, but you find that you are building a sort of tolerance to it, accepting it as part of his personality. He sleeps closer to the fire than you do, his hand resting near his sword as though he thinks you could be attacked at any moment. You toy with this idea for a very short time before recalling that Prospitians are stupidly nice―even Karkat. Maybe even especially him. When he thinks he's gone too far, he peers at you, biting his lip and looking so apologetic that you couldn't be mad if you tried.

You realize with a sense of trepidation that he makes you feel better about your situation, rendering it into jokes and insults toward the witch, painting her as a dastardly villain and you a pure maiden.

When you cross the border into Derse, he tells you, "It's like this whole kingdom's full of this gloomy atmosphere. You noticed it get colder, didn't you? The land is welcoming you back into its ghostly embrace. Go and hug a tree to show your appreciation for it." You're startled into laughing, and he looks supremely self-satisfied, comparable to a cat with cream.

 

 

 

As with all good things, it must come to an end. You run into the strongest mage in the region, a highly self-assured man by the name of Sollux Captor. It's no surprise that you dislike him immediately, nor that he dislikes you as well, but it is a surprise when Karkat greets him like an old friend.

They _are_ old friends, much to your horror.

They ignore you for each other. You don't know why you expected otherwise or why you miss the camaraderie you had with Karkat. "Sollux is going to join us," is all he says to you before returning to his conversation with the magic user. Being snubbed is new, and it hurts more than you thought it would.

Sollux smirks mockingly at you, knowing and _reveling_ in your pain. You clench your hands into fists, and your nails bite into your skin, leaving angry red crescents.

 

 

 

(Karkat sees them later and comes to your side immediately, fussing over you, concerned in a way that he doesn't have any right to be. You snatch your hand back and snarl exactly that, and he looks at you for seconds that seem to stretch on endlessly, mouth pressed in a frown and a crease between his brows. He doesn't say anything, and neither do you.

When he tries again, taking your hand gently to have a better look at the cuts, you let him.)

 

 

 

You let yourself drift away from Karkat. Sometimes he sends you worried glances, usually over his shoulder when you trail after them, but that is easy to ignore, especially when Sollux shoots you an annoyed look, like he blames you for the momentary loss of attention.

You stare straight ahead, a dark and heavy stone in your chest, choking and consuming you.

It gets easier to deal with every time.

(At least, that's what you tell yourself.)

 

 

 

One evening, after you've made camp, Sollux talks about your sister, brags about having become her friend and confidant. He looks at you sidelong as he says that she mentioned a stranger in her room when she awakened after he healed her of her ailment. "A man with two scars on his face, she said," he reveals, now gazing directly at you.

You have two scars spanning from the bottom of your right eye, over your nose, to the bottom of your left cheek, received from an encounter with a rogue. Karkat looks at you, his nose scrunching up in something like disbelief and disgust, and says your name, tone demanding an explanation.

You stand up and walk away to check on the horses. Your companions don't follow you.

 

 

 

When you return, Sollux has a sort of holier-than-thou look on his face, and Karkat doesn't look at you at all. It makes you want to punch something, preferably Sollux's face, and it makes you wish that you had never traveled to Prospit in the first place.

 

 

 

"Hey, honey," one of the women you once knew says to you, sliding a glass of ale toward you, "what's got you so down?"

Your only response is, "Everything," and you've never thought the phrase "drink away your sorrows" was true until now.

 

 

 

You have a hangover, and with every word Sollux utters, you suppress the urge to hit him. He looks at you like you're stupid, worthless, an ant beneath his sole, and Karkat looks at you pityingly. You don't know which one you detest more.

"Look, we're in your capital!" Sollux announces, purposely loud. "Are we going to find the witch or what?"

You want to kill him. "Ever thought of _asking around_?"

All you need to do is ask one person who is obviously from the city, and they give you the answer readily: "She left for her island a few days ago." You thank them and raise an eyebrow at Sollux, a wordless insult to his intelligence, and the look he sends you is not kind by any measure of the word. You take it as a personal victory.

"Where _ith_ the island, then, if you're tho thmart?" he asks, all high and mighty, as though he thinks that you don't have an answer.

You take it as another personal victory that you do in fact know. You: two. Sollux: more than you care to remember. "Well, considering it's a fuckin' _island_ , I would assume it's in the _sea_."

Karkat heaves a long-suffering sigh. "So we get someone to sail all the way over to it?" he inquires to clarify, far less venomous than Sollux. You don't think you would appreciate him half as much if Sollux wasn't with you.

You think of your seafaring princess, and the nostalgia leaves you feeling empty and alone. "I know someone who can do it."

 

 

 

"Witch's island?" Vriska asks, awed, letting out a low whistle. "Damn, she must've done something awful to you. It could represent a danger to my crew, though, so all of you will have to pay your worth in coins."

You pull out a jeweled necklace, sapphires embedded in silver. "Will this do?" you ask, the same routine as before. She takes it as greedily as she once did, running her fingers over the precious metals.

Sollux gives her actual money, and she receives it just the same. Karkat colors, and Sollux is about to pay for his fare as well, but you beat him to the punch; you place a pair of earrings into her hands, dark amethyst. She looks positively gleeful. "Go ahead and board," she says, dropping into a mockery of a curtsy.

She's exactly as she was when you knew her, and it gives you comfort and pain in equal measures.

 

 

 

It's easy somehow to talk to her, and you spend most of your time with her. Karkat and Sollux have terrible sea legs, and Karkat is often seen leaning against the railing, vomiting into the ocean. You sit by him sometimes, rubbing his back, pushing his hair away from his face. You always leave when Sollux comes to check on him.

Vriska thinks it's all shades of hilarious, and she teases you for it. "Going to go check up on your baby?" she snickers whenever you leave, and you always turn red, so she never lets up. You would never expect anything else.

 

 

 

("Jilted lover?" she asks once with all the sympathy a woman like her can offer, which in fact is not all that much. At least she tries. When you shoot her a look that is your equivalent of a "what", she laughs a little, and it comes out strange, mocking without meaning to be. Her attempts at sincerity are always ruined by her natural personality, and she goes with it as though it's all planned. "I can't judge someone for preferring their own gender when I'm the same."

The secret come out at last! You almost want to laugh. In all your years of knowing her, she had never confessed to this. It doesn't change a thing about your view of her, merely explains why she had never been interested in you. "Haven't got a lover," you say, "and never did."

She levels you with an oddly amused look, eyes as azure as the sapphires at her throat. "From the looks of things," she replies, "you could have."

Her meaning is clear, but you don't know how to take it.)

 

 

 

You spend nearly a week on board, and when you finally reach the island, Karkat is the first to scramble off to drop to his knees and kiss the ground. Sollux laughs at him, and so does the crew. You pat at his back.

"We'll take you back if your witch doesn't," Vriska tells you. "Don't piss her off so much this time!"

You laugh and say that you won't, and Sollux and Karkat look at you in astonishment; it's been so long since you've laughed that you almost forgot what it was like. Vriska has always been good to you, though she doesn't know it.

You, the mage, and the knight walk through the beach into the forest, every leaf green and the woods singing of joy.

 

 

 

Sollux talks longingly about Feferi again when you find a site to stop at for the night, warmer than previous nights. "I thaved her life, you know," he adds smugly, more for your benefit than anything. "Shthe's pretty hot, too, and hath a clathic hero crushth on me. I am one lucky guy."

Karkat hums in agreement, not paying much attention, but you look at Sollux, at his angular face and almond eyes, and say, "You didn't save her."

They both look at you incredulously. "Uh, yeah, I did," Sollux says with all the self-assurance you've come to expect from him. "You can athk literally anyone, they'll tell you I did."

"Not me," you point out, something menacing coiling in the pit of your stomach. " _I_ saved her."

Understanding rises in Karkat's eyes, as light as dawn. "Eridan―"

"What the fuck do you even _mean_?" Sollux interrupts acidly. "Are you jealouth or thomething, ith that it? Becauthe all I know about you ith that you're thith thad noble, and you're tho much into the printhess that you thnuck into her chamberth like a creep."

You're punching him before you even realize it, knocking both of you off the log on which he perched. Karkat is shouting at you, but you don't know what he's saying, too focused on hurting Sollux as much as he's hurt you, and he seems to be on the same wavelength because magic crackles at his fingertips, burning you. You hit him in the mouth and he flips you over, attacks you with the same enthusiasm.

Karkat wrestles him off, pinning his arms behind his back. "For the love of God, _stop it_!" He glowers at you as you sit up, wiping your mouth with your arm. "Both of you need to calm down because neither of you _understand_ ―"

Sollux spits out a tooth and says, "Then enlighten me."

"She's my sister," you half-scream, raspy and shaking. "She's my _sister_ , you son of a bitch―"

" _Eridan_!" Karkat stops you with a glare. "Sollux, he bargained with this witch to save Feferi's life, and that's why you healed her so easily. You've been pissing each other off for this whole journey, and I want it to end, got it? We're going to make sure Eridan gets his life back, because, guess what, the cost for _her_ life was for everyone to forget about _him_ , dipshit!"

The mage is stunned, and he looks at you with new eyes. "Oh," he says, and he sounds very small.

Karkat drops him onto the ground and comes to kneel by you, hands gentle on your arms as he looks at the mark left by Sollux's fingers on your bicep. "Both of you are idiots," he mutters, and you couldn't agree more.

 

 

 

("I'm sorry," he whispers later to you, when Sollux is asleep and the fire is nothing but low embers. "I should've said something sooner."

"It's okay," you murmur back, and it is.)

 

 

 

The palace is splendid, pure white and dazzling gold. You can appreciate its beauty while detesting the reason you came. You walk right in like you own the place, and it's sheer luck that the first thing you see is the witch, adjusting the ruffle of her sleeve. Her eyes are lilac and she seems very serene for someone whose home was just broken into.

"You again," she says, only a little disgruntled. "I thought you would have given up by now."

"Sorry," you respond with a frozen smile that is more like a grimace than anything. "I'll only give up when you return what's rightfully mine."

"You mean everyone's memories of you?" She makes it sound very silly, a childish wish, and you set your jaw, trying to control your temper.

Karkat says, "You were unclear on your terms."

"It is not my fault that he took the price of his life to be his death."

"Anyone would think that was what you meant. As such, I would like to challenge you." His grin is real, a quirk of lips that betrays no fear. "I win, you give Eridan what he wants. I lose, you can take something from me."

Sollux insists, "No," at the same time she agrees, "You've got it."

 

 

 

He wins, but he lies bleeding roses on the ground.

"You fought well," says the woman, rather torn up herself. "I'll grant you a wish, as well. What is your desire?"

"To be healed," he answers through gritted teeth, because nothing else would matter if he were to die. She laughs, and it is like the peal of bells, high and musically sweet. A light encases her hands and envelops him in soothing green, his wounds seeming to sizzle as muscle tissue and skin repairs themselves.

She is soon finished, and she turns to look at you. "They will remember you," she promises, something off about her tone, and the last thing you hear before the world is shuttered in black is Sollux demanding, "What about me?"

 

 

 

When you awake, the first thing you are aware of is the bed beneath you, soft and cool in autumn's wake. You swing your legs over your side like you had so long ago and pad to your vanity, looking at your reflection. Your hair is mussed and the bags under your eyes are darker than you remember them being, and you are still in the clothes you were in last. You shove your boots on and leave, almost jogging to your sister's room.

She's awake in her bed, reading a book, and she looks up when you arrive. She beams at you and chirps a good morning. "You look tired," she observes less excitedly. "Are you alright?"

You can hardly breathe, and you cross over to her to hug her briefly. "I'm fine," you say, and that statement almost makes you cry. You are fine. Feferi is healthy and she remembers you. "Just wanted to check on you."

She is absolutely radiant. "Go eat breakfast," she giggles, waving you away. "Come see me after!"

Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

You check on your parents, as well; they are in the throne room, same as before, but this time, they welcome you warmly. "What do you need?" your mother asks gently, affectionately.

"Just wanted to let you know I'm going to the market," you reply, and they laugh and tell you to do it, then, you don't need to tell them everything you're going to do.

Has anything been more wonderful than this?

 

 

 

You are about to enter the bakery when you catch sight of a familiar head of dark hair. "Kar!" you exclaim, rushing forward to catch his arm. Happiness bubbles up inside you; the many previous days feel like years gone by. "When did you―?"

He wrenches himself out of your grip and glares at you. "Excuse me," he says icily, the way he did when you first met but worse, now, "I've never met you before in my life."

Horror claws at your insides, sharp and chilling. "I-I'm sorry," you say, stumbling back and fumbling for words. "You―you just reminded me of someone I used to know."

He snorts and walks away, and you watch him go with despair crawling vermilion in your veins.

 

 

 

If you were to start over, would you make the same decision or content yourself with knowing Karkat?

 

 

 

(You meet him again months later at a ball in Prospit, one your family was invited to. It's easy to drift toward him and introduce yourself. "I'm Eridan," you say, barely able to get the words out; he doesn't know you and by this time, you aren't sure he ever did.

His hair curls against his cheeks, perfect as a painting, and he regards you thoughtfully. "Karkat," he replies finally. He is everything you remember him being and that makes your heart clench with melancholy, makes it flutter with hope.

"Care for a dance?" you dare to ask, holding a hand out to him, and he takes it, looking amused. As you lead him into the space cleared for the couples already dancing, you think that if this is all that you can take, you will take it gladly.)


End file.
